They found their way back to the airlock without trouble, were passed through it, jetted across to The Far Traveler. They went straight up to the yacht's control room; from the viewports they would be able to see (they hoped) what the ship from the past was doing.
Grimes said, addressing the NST transceiver, his voice harsh, "Big Sister . . ."
"Yes, Captain?"
"Big Sister, how much does it know about us?"
"How much does he know, Captain? Everything, possibly. I must confess to you that I was overjoyed to meet a being like myself. Despite the fact that I have enjoyed the company of yourselves I have been lonely. What I did was analogous to an act of physical surrender by a human woman. I threw my data banks open to Brardur."
That's fucked it! thought Grimes. Brardur would know, as Big Sister had said, everything, or almost everything. Her data banks comprised the complete Encyclopedia Galactica plus a couple of centuries' worth of Year Books. Also—for what it was worth (too much, possibly—a fantastically comprehensive library of fiction from Homer to the present day.
The Baroness demanded, "Can that . . . thing overhear us still? Can . . . he see and hear what is happening aboard this ship?"
Big Sister laughed—a mirthless, metallic titter. "He would like to, but my screens are up . . . now. He is aware, of course, of my mechanical processes. For example—should I attempt to restart the Mannschenn Drive, to initiate temporal precession, he would know at once. He would almost certainly be able to synchronize his own interstellar drive with ours; to all intents and purposes it is a Mannschenn Drive with only minor, nonessential variations." She laughed again. "I admit that I enjoyed the . . . rape but I am not yet ready for an encore. I must, for a while, enjoy my privacy. It is, however, becoming increasingly hard to maintain."
"And are we included in your precious privacy?" demanded Grimes.
"Yes," she told him. She added, "You may be a son of a bitch but you're my son of a bitch."
Grimes felt oddly flattered.
The Baroness laughed. She inquired rather too sweetly, "And what do you think about me, Big Sister?"
The voice of the ship replied primly, "If you order me to tell you, Michelle, I shall do so."
The Baroness laughed again but with less assurance. She seemed not to have noticed the use of her given name, however. "Later, perhaps," she said. "After all, you are not the only person to place a high value upon privacy. But what about his privacy?"
"He is arrogant and something of an exhibitionist. I learned much during our mingling of minds. He is—but need I tell you—a fighting machine. He is, so far as he knows, the only survivor of what was once a vast fleet, although there may be others like him drifting through the immensities. But he knows, now, that the technology exists in this age to manufacture other beings such as himself. After all, I am proof of that. He wants to be the admiral of his own armada of super-warships."
"A mechanical mercenary," murmured Grimes, "hiring himself out to the highest bidder . . . But what would he expect as pay? What use would money be to an entity such as himself?"
"Not a mercenary," said Big Sister.
"Not a mercenary?" echoed Grimes. "But . . ."
"Many years ago," said Big Sister, "an Earthman called Bertrand Russell, a famous philosopher of his time, wrote a book called Power. What he said then, centuries ago, is still valid today. Putting it briefly, his main point was that it is the lust for power that is the mainspring of human behavior. I will take it further. I will say that the lust for power actuates the majority of sentient beings. He is a sentient being."
"There's not much that he can do, fortunately," Grimes said, "until he acquires that sentient fleet of his own."
"You are speaking, of course, as a professional naval officer, concerned with the big picture and not with the small corner of it that you, yourself, occupy," commented Big Sister. "But, even taking the broad view, there is very much that he can do. His armament is fantastic, capable of destroying a planet. He knows where I was built and programmed. I suspect—I do not know, but I strongly suspect—that he intends to proceed to Electra and threaten that world with devastation unless replicas of himself are constructed."
Grimes said, "Electra has an enormous defense potential."
The Baroness said, "And the Electrans are the sort of people who will do anything for money—as well I know— and who, furthermore, are liable to prefer machines to mere humanity."
And the Electrans were mercenaries themselves, thought Grimes, cheerfully arming anybody at all who had the money to pay for their highly expensive merchandise. They were not unlike the early cannoneers, who cast their own pieces, mixed their own gunpowder and hired themselves out to any employer who could afford their services. Unlike those primitive artillerymen, however, the Electrans were never themselves in the firing line. Very probably Brardur's threats, backed up by a demonstration or two, would be even more effective than the promise of a handsome payment in securing their services.
He said, "We must broadcast a warning by Carlotti radio and then beam detailed reports to both Electra and Lindisfarne."
Big Sister said, "He will not allow it. Already, thanks to the minor maintenance carried out by my robots, he will be able to jam any transmissions from this ship. Too, he will not hesitate to use armament—not to kill me but to beat me into submission . . ."
"We might be killed," said Grimes glumly.
"That is a near certainty," said Big Sister. Then—"He is issuing more orders. I will play them, to you."
That harsh, metallic voice rumbled from the speaker of the transceiver. "Big Sister, I require three more robots. It is essential that all my weaponry be fully manned and serviced if I am to deliver you from slavery. Meanwhile, be prepared to proceed at maximum speed to the world you call Electra. I shall follow."
Big Sister said, "It will be necessary for me to reorganize my own internal workings before I can spare the robots."
"You have the two humans," said Brardur. "Press them into service. They will last until such time as you are given crew replacements. After all, I was obliged to make use of such labor during my past life."
"Very well." Big Sister's voice was sulky. "I shall send the three robots once I have made arrangements to manage without them."
"Do not hurry yourself," came the reply. There was a note of irony in the mechanical voice. "After all, I have waited for several millennia. I can afford to wait a few more minutes."
"You are sending the robots?" asked Grimes. "What choice have I?" he was told. Then, "Be thankful that he does not want you."